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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639806">Draw Your Swords</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/obihoekenobi/pseuds/obihoekenobi'>obihoekenobi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, no beta we die like men, this is very self indulgent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:28:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/obihoekenobi/pseuds/obihoekenobi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A thunderstorm and a surprise guest, make for a night you'll never forget.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Draw Your Swords</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Throw on some storm ambience and come along for the ride.</p><p>Playing: https://youtu.be/-mirqViyITY</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At first, you mistake the noise for the storm outside. You pause in the middle of the kitchen, head titling as you wait for the noise to come again. You don't get visitors very often, secluded as you are. When the only thing you hear is the rumble of thunder overhead and patter of rain against the roof, you continue to your bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>You shiver as your bare feet pad along the wooden floor. Once the sun sets, the temperatures begins to plummet. It was too much work to keep the whole place heated just for yourself, so at night you only lit the fire in your bedroom. You sigh in relief as the warm glow greets you, the heat blasting against your cool skin as the door clicks shut securely behind you.</p><p> </p><p>Your home was tucked in between the trees and at the base of a mountain but even that wasn't enough to lessen the sound of the wind as it whistled past your house. Over the years, you had gotten used to the sound, grown to love it even. During the day, the house was always still but at night, it was almost like you weren't alone. It was comforting, as you slid under the furs that layered your bed.</p><p> </p><p>You clutch the piping hot tea in your hand, as you grab your book from the nightstand. It's a lovely story, one you've read several times. It was given to you by a travelling merchant, after he caught you staring longingly at it in between negotiating for food. He didn't look at you, as he placed it in amongst your purchases. You never would have purchased it otherwise, too frivolous a spend when you had so many other needs. </p><p> </p><p>Mostly, you were able to look after yourself. You were a capable hunter and could forage for the rest but when the cold set in, it became more difficult. The animals tended to hide away and the plants retreated beneath the ground for protection against the harsh climate. Worse, the weather was unpredictable and storms were a common sight for weeks on end. Just like tonight.</p><p> </p><p>You were just settling into the story, when you heard it again. This time closer, the distinct sound of metal striking against the door to your home.</p><p> </p><p>You threw back the covers, and silently set down both your tea and your book. Taking your time, you slipped on a pair of boots and grabbed a nearby coat. The last thing you reached for was your blaster. You didn't often have use for it but you always kept it loaded, just in case. You were all alone out here, after all. </p><p> </p><p>The hallway has never seemed darker or more ominous, as you sneak towards the front of your house. </p><p> </p><p>Whoever it is hasn't knocked again since. You wonder how long they've been out there and contemplate pretending not to hear them. It would be so easy to go back to your warm bed and slip back under the covers. </p><p> </p><p>Another crack of thunder reminds you why that isn't an option.</p><p> </p><p>Taking a deep breath, the rusty hinges of your door creak as you peer out into the dark of the night. </p><p> </p><p>You almost believe there's no one there, until lightning flares across the sky. </p><p> </p><p>The man infront of you is luminous. For those few seconds he's appears to you as if an apparition. You pince yourself, as the thunder rolls again and he dims back to obscurity.</p><p> </p><p>It's only when you go to speak that you realise how heavy the rain is. </p><p> </p><p>"Hello?", you call, cupping your hands uselessly infront of you to try project your voice over the cacophony of noise. You squint as you try to catch a glimpse of him again, feeling a flicker of surprise as you realise he's covered completely in armor. Like something out of one your stories. </p><p> </p><p>The haze lifts as he steps closer and your eyes adjust to near pitch dark. You feel yourself place your blaster into your coat pocket, as you take in his pathetic form. </p><p> </p><p>You can't tell anything about his clothes, soaked as he is. His cloak clings to him like a second skin, almost trailing along the ground for how wet it is. The rain makes a metallic sound, as it batters against his helmet. </p><p> </p><p>Your mind made up, you throw the door open further and gesture him in. Every story tells you what a mistake you're making but your gut tells you everything will be fine, that you can trust him. </p><p> </p><p>You watch him hesitate for a moment before he steps forward. He walks slowly, as if each step is hurting him. You imagine it probably is, as you watch him clutch nervously at the strap of his bag. </p><p> </p><p>Like coaxing a frightened young colt, you make room for him as he steps inside of your home. There's a second of regret, as you watch him drip all over your wooden floors but the feeling is quickly forgotten as he continues to shiver. </p><p> </p><p>"Come on in...", you begin, trailing off in hopes of getting some kind of name. </p><p> </p><p>When none seems forthcoming, you continue.</p><p> </p><p>"You must be awfully cold, sir, come on through after me".</p><p> </p><p>You feel bad, leading him into your bedroom. But it's the only room worth being in. The rest of the house is just as chilly as it is outside, and you have no spare bedroom to speak of. In all your years, you had never had a guest stay overnight. </p><p> </p><p>You watch him hover at the threshold of your door, as he realises where you've brought him. </p><p> </p><p>"Sorry, sir, this is the only place you'll find any comfort in this house at night, not worth heating the rest of the place when it's just me". </p><p> </p><p>"Mando".</p><p> </p><p>"Excuse me?", you reply, too shocked by the sound of his voice to even begin deciphering what he means. It's surprisingly soft and you have to strain to hear him. </p><p> </p><p>"You can call me that", he replies finally. You smile in response, and it's only then you realise he still has his helmet on. You had almost forgotten it was there. </p><p> </p><p>"Mando", you repeat, rolling the word in your mouth, "feel free to take that off". </p><p> </p><p>You can practically hear him tense and you wonder what's wrong. </p><p> </p><p>"I can look away", you say, turning already. </p><p> </p><p>"No, no, I can't take it off", he replies. </p><p> </p><p>Your brows furrow, as you turn to look at him, a question on the tip of your tongue. </p><p> </p><p>A small coo interrupts you. </p><p> </p><p>You watch in fascination, as the man throws back his wet cloak and looks into the depths of his bag. Just when you think things can't get any stranger, a horrified gasp escapes your lips as you realise he has a child. </p><p> </p><p>His hand twitches to his blaster, as you take an automatic step forward. Undeterred, you keep your eyes on the small green child as you draw as close as the armoured man will let you. He seems to recognise your intent, as his hand loosens from his blaster and goes back to cradling the child. </p><p> </p><p>"Hello there", you coo, grasping one of large green ears once you're sure Mando won't stop you. It's freezing cold to the touch, and his little cheeks are just as cold and flushed a worryingly violet colour. </p><p> </p><p>It seems the other has tried his best to keep him as dry as possible but even then, his dress is damp to the touch. </p><p> </p><p>"We should get him out of this", you say, gesturing at the fabric, "and both of you into something else". You don't realize how close you've both become until you glance up. </p><p> </p><p>He's taller than you and he smells overwhelming like the forest and the cold. You wonder what he usually smells like. Blaster fire and forged iron?</p><p> </p><p>He makes no move. </p><p> </p><p>"You can't or you won't?", you ask, finally as you look at where you hope his eyes are. The black visor stares blankly back at you, but you see past it in the tenseness of his shoulders and they way he looks at the child before answering. </p><p> </p><p>"I can't, my creed does not allow me to remove my helmet infront of another". </p><p> </p><p>You make sure to hide your surprise, as you consider his words. You've never met someone before with similar believes. The people who made home on your planet were a simple sort and even the travellers that made their way through weren't particularly noteworthy. The edge of the galaxy, some people called it. </p><p> </p><p>"I'll draw you a bath", you settle on, "for you and the kid".</p><p> </p><p>When he makes to speak again, you silence him with a hand. </p><p> </p><p>"I'll wait outside in the kitchen until you're done". </p><p> </p><p>Not giving him a chance to protest, you retreat to your wardrobe. You don't have much, but you think you have some things that will fit him. He's not much taller than you, and from what you made out, he seems lithe beneath his armour. A pair of your sleep pants should fit him. Pausing for a moment, you turn to another press you seldom open. </p><p> </p><p>A puff of dust greets you, as it creaks open. </p><p> </p><p>After a moment of hesitation, you pull one of your father's old shirts from inside. It's a soft, faded blue. The kind of keepsake you rarely indulge in. It should fit him, you decide. </p><p> </p><p>He's still standing in the same spot by the door when you turn around. </p><p> </p><p>"Start undressing him, I'll grab towels and get the tub".</p><p> </p><p>You make your way over to your storage cupboard, humming as you go. Throwing some towels over your shoulder, you ease the wooden tub out onto the floor. You heft the lip of it up until it cradles your shoulder and make your way back your guests.</p><p> </p><p>Mando is infront of the fire, rocking the child in his arms and speaking to him quietly. He stops when he hears you return. </p><p> </p><p>You stumble closer as the weight becomes too much, winching as the tub clatters against the ground. He doesn't so much as flinch, as you push it closer to the fire. </p><p> </p><p>Straightening, you dump most of the towels onto a nearby rocking chair and offer the last to Mando. </p><p> </p><p>You watch for a moment, as he begins to gentle dry the child. Shaking your head fondly, you retreat from the room to give them some privacy. You grab the big bucket from storage and bring it to faucet in the kitchen. Once it's filled to the brim, you haul it back to the room and hook it over the fire. </p><p> </p><p>Knowing it will take several minutes for the water to warm, you decide that food should come next. </p><p> </p><p>"Can I get you two something to eat, while we wait?".</p><p> </p><p>You can't resist smiling at the child, as they peer out at you from beneath the towel. Mando has wrapped them up tightly, and only a sliver of their face is visible. You can see the child squirming to break free but Mando merely tuts and readjusts them. </p><p> </p><p>"We don't want to impose more than we already have", he begins hesitantly, "but something for the kid would be good".</p><p> </p><p>"What does the little critter usually eat?", you reply easily, already mentally sorting through your inventory. </p><p> </p><p>"I don't assume you have any frogs back there, but he likes meat".</p><p> </p><p>He sounds shy almost, and you make sure to smile reassuringly, hoping he recognizes the expression. You wonder if the same big eyes hide within the helmet, green ears pinned down against the sides. You don't dwell on the thought. </p><p> </p><p>You make quick work of securing them a meal. You settle on the jerky you have stored. It's not the tastiest of food but the rest of your food is either pickled or bland. You grab enough to include Mando, and also set to work on making both of you tea and heating some milk for the child. </p><p> </p><p>Once it's finished, you set it all onto a tray and carefully make your way back to them. A shiver racks through you, and you grimace as the porcelain and metal rattle against each other.</p><p> </p><p>This time, you find Mando perched awkwardly on your rocking chair, sopping cloak hanging carefully near the fire. </p><p> </p><p>"Here we go", you say, sliding the tray onto the low coffee table that resides infront of him. </p><p> </p><p>The child watches with bright, curious eyes as you dish everything out. Once he realises what it is, he begins to squirm in earnest. </p><p> </p><p>A delighted laugh escapes your lips as you watch him. Mando seems to jerk in shock at the noise, helmet twisting between you and the child. You wonder if it's normal to start imagining expression where there are none. </p><p> </p><p>"You guys can eat in here, I'll give you some privacy", you say, "just let me refill the bucket first". </p><p> </p><p>------</p><p> </p><p>And that's how you find yourself cleaning your kitchen in the middle of the night. You do your best to keep busy and ignore the cold that's creeping in but there's only so many times you can straighten your clutter. You take a fortifying sip of your tea, as you lean back against the counter. </p><p> </p><p>The rain has stopped, and the sound of thunder is now distant. It feels almost surreal, as you stand in the silence of your home. Your thoughts drift automatically to your guests, as you wonder what brought them to your doorstep, father and son. He didn't have to say it aloud for you to know the truth of it. </p><p> </p><p>Your cup is almost empty, when you hear the slow thread of boots getting closer. </p><p> </p><p>Mando peeks his head inside the room, surveying everything carefully before his gaze lands on you. It's then you realise he's holding the empty tray in his hands, dishes stacked neatly on top of each other. </p><p> </p><p>You take it from him with a quiet murmur of appreciation, setting it aside for later. You can probably do it while they wash.</p><p> </p><p>"Right, let's get that bath sorted for you and the little guy". </p><p> </p><p>To your surprise, be lets you lead as you make your way back inside. The child is swaddled on the chair, looking at you both expectantly as you re-enter the room. </p><p> </p><p>"I've got some spare clothes for you, so you can change into them once you're done". </p><p> </p><p>You fetch them from where you discarded them atop the press, and place them onto the table between you. You leave him to contemplate them, as you heave the water from over the fire. You curse as some of it sloshes over the edge but don't manage to lose much before you tip it into the tub. </p><p> </p><p>It's no luxury bath, but it should bring some warmth to frostbitten limps and it's not hot enough to shock their cold systems. </p><p> </p><p>"You guys can bunk down in here, and we can talk in the morning", you explain over you shoulder, retreating to retrieve your book. You don't let your mind linger on what happens next, as your eyes catch on your bed. It would be a hard night out on the couch but you can't make your guests brave the cold again. </p><p> </p><p>"Wait", he calls.</p><p> </p><p>"What's wrong?", you ask, mind already cycling through a million possibilities. </p><p> </p><p>"You don't have to go", he says, the shyness from before creeping back into his modulated voice. This time, it's your own head tilting in confusion. He won't meet your gaze anymore, visor pointing firmly at the ground. </p><p> </p><p>"What about your creed?", you ask gently. He doesn't have to explain it to you, for you to understand how important it is to him.</p><p> </p><p>"If you'd promise not to look, you could stay".</p><p> </p><p>You're floored by the offer and it must show on your face, as his gaze drops away again. His shoulders shift, as if bracing himself for rejection. You can't begin to parse why. </p><p> </p><p>"As long as your comfortable, I promise not to look".</p><p> </p><p>You take a few moments to orient yourself as he collects the child. You settle on the rocking chair, turning it around so it faces the wall and your back is to the fire. You look at him for approval, only seating yourself once he nods his head. </p><p> </p><p>It takes a moment for you get comfortable, and you quickly try to get back into your book. You reread the same line at least ten times, as you listen to rustle of cloth. His gloves you think. </p><p> </p><p>It's followed by a series of clicking noises and the sharp snip of metal clasps. It feels like an eternity, until the noise stops. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, as all the air seems to rush from the room. You can practically feels his eyes, as the back of your neck begins to flush in embarrassment. </p><p> </p><p>The book crinkles beneath your fingers, as you hear the whoosh of his helmet being removed. The child seems to coo at the familiar sight, and you can imagine his small arms reaching for his father. The creed probably doesn't extend to family, you think, trying to focus your mind. </p><p> </p><p>You're finally getting a grasp on your thoughts, when you hear the wet snap of clothes hitting the ground. You don't know who you're more embarrassed for, as you listen to him get into the tub. It takes all your self control, not to sneak a glance over your shoulder. You remind yourself why you can't look, as you recenter yourself on the book. </p><p> </p><p>You've almost forgotten where you are, by the time you hear him shift again. You had been lulled by the sound of splashing water and soft murmurs of voices. You're hyper aware of the sounds of him drying off, as you pretend to read your book. You don't think you could concentrate on it now even if he took his blaster to the back of your head.</p><p> </p><p>You're so wrapped up in the thought, you don't hear him drawing closer until a hand settles on your shoulder. The helmet is securely back in place but the rest of him is a revelation. He's smaller than you thought, your father's shirt hanging endearingly over the top of his hands. The collar also hangs loose, baring swathes of tanned skin. It seems almost indecent, and you force your eyes away. </p><p> </p><p>"Thank you", he says sincerely, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze. You feel your face light up, as you look up at him and the child.</p><p> </p><p>"No worry at all", you whisper back, as you realize the child is already asleep. He's heartbreakingly adorable, as he burrows into his father's stomach. You resist the urge to shower his face in kisses but just barely.</p><p> </p><p>"You can take the bed", you continue, hoping he'll take your offer. You can already tell he's a gentleman but you're stubborn enough to combat that. </p><p> </p><p>He seems to consider it for a moment, as he looks down at the sleeping child. You hear the quiet huff of breath through his helmet, before he focuses back on you again.</p><p> </p><p>"We can share", he says, like it's the most simple choice and you're stupid for not considering. He leaves you reeling, as he retreats to the bed. You trip over yourself in your hast to follow him.</p><p> </p><p>The look he levels you when you begin to quietly protest, even with the helmet, can only be described as glare.</p><p> </p><p>You settle on discarding your boots and coat, so as not to overthink it too much. It's certainly not the weirdest thing you've ever done but probably the most awkward. You feel guilty, as you settle beside him, like you're doing something wrong. </p><p> </p><p>You watch as he puts the child between you and lays on his side. You try to settle facing away. Several seconds pass with you shifting uncomfortably, before you feel a warm hand settle on your shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>You let him roll you over until you're facing each other. He doesn't say a word, as he drops his hand so that it cradles the child protectively. You let your own hand edge closer, as you settle onto your pillow. It's as if a spell has fallen over you, as your eyes begin to grow heavy. </p><p> </p><p>The last thing you see before you fall asleep is a hand laying beside yours. </p><p> </p><p>------</p><p> </p><p>It's been several weeks since that night, and you still think about it almost everyday. You often wonder if it was a dream, conjured by a lonely brain. A story come to life from one your books. You had always had an active imagination, it wasn't a stretch to think you might have made it up. </p><p> </p><p>You're just lighting the stove to prepare breakfast when you hear a noise at the door. A sense of deja vu overtakes you, as you freeze in place. Only the sound of another knock shakes you from your stupor. </p><p> </p><p>You almost don't believe it, when you open the door to find him standing there.</p><p> </p><p>He's as beautiful as the first time you laid eyes on him, his armor reflecting the rising sun.</p><p> </p><p>It's then that you realize he's all alone and you feel a lance of panic in your chest.</p><p> </p><p>"The child..", you say, unable to find the right words. </p><p> </p><p>"He's gone, to his... his people".</p><p> </p><p>"I thought you were his people", you reply, feeling tears sting your eyes as you realize what has happened and hear the dullness of his voice. </p><p> </p><p>"I thought I could be, but he was too special".</p><p> </p><p>You can feel hot tears track their way down your face, as you stare helplessly at each other. </p><p> </p><p>And before you can even begin to stop him, he removes his helmet. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this was a thing I wrote. </p><p>Not the best but I enjoyed writing this. This was originally meant to be cuter and steamier but it just turned out kind of sad. I blame Grogu.</p><p>Also title is from Angus &amp; Julia Stone.</p><p>Come find me on Tumblr under the same name.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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